Momaical is a humorous look at trying not to raise a flock of assholes. Cursing & copious coffee involved.

Momaical: [mom-mahy-uh-kuhl] = (Hybrid of Mom and Maniacal.)


Lost At Sea

Drifting...drifting....alone at sea.

The sun beats down on us, scorching our skin and dehydrating our lips. I have no idea when our boat broke down: Days? Weeks? How long can someone survive without food and water?

We had consumed anything edible long ago and delirium was beginning to set in. I begin to imagine mermaids coming to the surface and feeding me delicacies from the deep. Birds carrying us a cornucopia of offerings from tropical islands near by. I fruitlessly lick my lips but I'm so dehydrated it's sandpaper rubbing sandpaper.

Send Our Stoli! 

My friend and I had long ago run out of things to talk about.  We lacked the energy to do anything except pray and slip closer to insanity.  How could this happen?  Why us?  Why did the engine need to stop on this boat leaving us adrift in the vast sea - the gulls our only friends?  I begin to contemplate carving my last words into the boat's seat cushions, a final farewell to my husband and children.  

A boat engine startles me from my reverie. Is it another manifestation of insanity setting in?

Our prayers have been answered as a white knight pulls up along side us. We are weak, close to death. The angel of mercy kisses us goodbye as we pull into shore - as it is not our time to journey into the vast beyond.  Our husbands are waiting for us on the docks, anxiously awaiting news of our safe return.  I collapse into my beloved's arms, tears not able to spring from my desiccated body.  Relief flooding my starved soul.

"Oh my God.  I thought I'd never see you again."

My husband turns my face up to his and says "Dude. The boat was broken down for like, 15 minutes. We could see you dumb asses here from the dock.  You have got to chill out."



Hanukkah Harry and the Yentas

Sometimes relationships are doomed from the start. You refuse to acknowledge it thinking I can do this!  I can accept differences and make this work!  Until a cross-dressing pug steps in and shows you what's up.

Read my tale about this today on In The Powder Room:


Does Anyone Have Floss? I Have Fin In My Gullet.

I stood there with my nose pressed up against the tank.  Excitement was bubbling up inside of me as I watched the miracle of life.  Lena's fish, Ponyo, was giving birth to tiny, precious baby guppies.  It really was amazing to behold as five brand new fish entered into our chaotic world.  I sat there for a few minutes just watching the babies swim around the tank, through the pink castle and into the treasure chest.  My heart swelled with pride at these beautiful babies. Wow. It really is amazing. I felt a sense of kinship with this new mommy. We had done it! We had survived pregnancy and the kids made it here. Miracles do happen – I feel so lucky to have witnessed this.

Then, my pride ran screaming from my body as revulsion stepped in. The mommy guppy was eating all of her babies!
"Oh. My. God!!! Stop!" I am banging on the tank and screeching obscenities. "What are you doing??? These are your babies!" She stares at me, cavalierly ignoring my “blub, blub, blub” ire.  She’s clearly thinking to her cannibalistic self “I must finish eating my a la carte sushi before this crazy lady tries to get in on this sweet meal deal.” She finishes up the last of her snack and wipes off her fish lips on a piece of plastic kelp. 
 "Mmmm my offspring look delicious!"

I stand there for a few minutes, unable to move. I am disgusted with Ponyo. I am disgusted with myself for not taking some kind of ichthyology class in college making me a fish obstetrician. I am disgusted with my husband who is standing behind me singing the “Circle of Life” from the Lion King.  I am disgusted at whatever my daughter has smashed into the carpet (some kind of play doh?).  But mostly I want to wring her little fish gills. Seriously. How do you eat your own babies

My husband can’t understand why I’m so upset. He pats my shoulder and says “Thinning of the herd, Tracy. Only the strong survive.” My eyes bore holes into his back as he heads into his office. I gather up the strength to carry on with my day. I don’t have the heart to tell Lena what Ponyo has done. 

I walk down the stairs and into the living room. In the short time while I was witnessing an extremely short circle of life, my two guppies were in the process of systematically dismantling the toy room. There is a flood 3 feet deep of wall-to-wall toys and the girls are crying because Emmeline ripped off Cinderella’s head with her teeth.  

And that's when I realize...maybe the guppies are onto something…


What Is That Delicious Perfume You Are Pouring Directly Into Your Eyes?

It's time for me to buy a new perfume. Back when I had no kids and disposable income, I always had several scents: one for the summer and another for the cooler months.  Over time I have used them up and not replenished them. And, in the sweaty summer months an extra bit of camouflage helps. It's time to find a new signature scent. 

I'm not sure what I want though. I can't really walk around sniffing the necks of strangers. For some reason, people frown upon this practice. I tried the whole department store route but after being chased down by the psychotic Passion pusher I am gun shy to repeat this experience. I had Elizabeth Taylor nightmares for a month. So, I am checking out some perfume campaigns to see what look I'm trying to embody. 

I love the ad campaigns for Chanel No. 5! I mean, how amazing and seductive does Nicole Kidman look?  However, as gorgeous as these Chanel women are - apparently even more so when they splash on Chanel - to me the perfume smells like old lady.

Does Bulgari's scent attract wild animals?  
Or does it make you smell like a zoo?  
Either way. Not for me. 

Lola by Mark Jacobs ~ Does the fact that I have two kids stand in the way of my deflowering? 

Dahlia Noir by Givenchy
I'd need to work on my angry dominatrix look for this one.

I'm not sure I have that kind of time.

Or a big enough cape.

Lucky You - Not if you have to look at a tattoo on my fupa. 
After two kids, my stomach tattoo would look less like a heart 
and more like a manatee.

Opium by YSL makes you want to roll naked on a fur rug?  
Well, except for the high heels.  
Which, I'm all about.  
Except, this looks like a lot of shaving.  
Which means I'd have to be able to take more than a 37 second shower.  
I guess this one is out.

Jil Sander perfume smells so fabulous
people just want to pour it directly on their genitals?

Forget the fact that pouring alcohol based products any where near your lady parts is going to cause searing pain! 

Because, it is better to smell good then to feel good.

Apparently with all high end perfume you pour it directly on your genitals and into your eyes.  

Did I miss perfuming 101?  
I bet these daredevils dry off next to an open flame too.  

Just thinking about the mess I'd have to pick up 
after applying Tom Ford's perfume 
makes me tired. 

Alexander McQueen's Kingdom 
makes you want to have a lesbian orgy?    

I don't know.  This is way too much pressure.  Do I want to tattoo my stretch marks (maybe a tiger since the stripes are already there)?  Or, have floral scented eyeballs? I guess I'll just ask the woman at the gym who blow dries her genitals.  She is secure enough in her womanhood to show it off to everyone while keeping it finely coiffed and probably spraying it with something expensive.  She clearly has taken perfume and lady-scaping 101, unlike me.  And, anyone that secure in themselves must be ready to share their scent with the world.  

Because I just can't commit to an entire bottle of orgy. 


"Women Who Have it All" and Other Lies People Tell - Guest Post by Jen @ Life on the SONny Side

One of the amazing things about blogging is the network of people that you find.  People that live in other time zones become friends.  They provide support to you when you're feeling overwhelmed.  They cheer you up when you feel beaten down by the internet world or RL (real life) as it's coined in the bloggiverse.  Plus, they hook you up with new eyeballs on your writing.  I've been really fortunate to meet some amazing people through my little blog.  

So, today, I'm introducing you to one of my favoritest people - Jen from Life on The SONny Side.  She's gorgeous, hilarious and one of the coolest smart chicks around.  But with this post she's sharing today on Momaical, she is opening up about how hard it is to be growed up. 

A big round of applause please for the lovely and talented Jennifer Provenzano!

"Women Who Have It All" and Other Lies People Tell - Guest Post by Jennifer Provenzano

I had trouble getting in to work today.

I sat in the parking lot…trying to go in. I simply couldn't stop crying. I watched the minutes tick by on the clock in my car waiting for the tears to dry up…for the weeping to subside. It took almost half an hour. I looked at myself in the rear view mirror. My God. Not only did I not want to go in, but now I was going to have to do it looking like this.

I’m a mom. I work full time in a fast-paced, often high pressure career. This isn't my first day back in the office after maternity leave. My son turned two last month.

This isn't meant to be a diatribe about why it’s so difficult to be a working mom. I, both know and love, a bevy of incredible stay at home moms, who spend 12-18 hour days managing unruly children and bustling households, who would give up their only coffee cup to trade places with me in a heartbeat. I don’t blame them for admiring the green of my “career mom” grass some days. But, there’s something that I desperately want for them to know.

It’s really more like AstroTurf. It’s a vibrant green, and from across the street, it probably looks pretty great. Up close, it’s more like an uncomfortable nightmare.

I've been getting up and leaving my son to go to work for two freaking years now, and it still feels just as impossible as it did driving away from him that very first day. The heartache never dulled. Not even a little. Even though people promised me that it would.

I come home tired, and burnt out in the evenings. When I’m with him then, I’m a lesser version of myself. My patience is short. My energy has left the building. I don’t like me…I certainly don’t know how I expect him to.

I’m missing milestones and memories. Every. Single. Day.

I know that I’m missing poopy diapers and tantrums too. I. Don’t. Care.

I listen to experts and pundits ponder whether or not today’s professional women can really “have it all”…can we balance a successful career path, an orderly home, and a fulfilling family life?

The short answer? No.

The long answer? Hell no.

In my weary opinion at least.

When I close my eyes, I see a much older version of myself. She is a woman in the twilight of her career with a fully grown child…who isn't a child at all any more. She is fraught with regret. She isn't beaming with pride because of years of contributions that she made to her “work team”. She is sad to see her little boy grown. She missed 40 hours of him, in all of his little boy glory, every single week. She is ashamed. The guilt is stifling. I open my eyes again and the sad drips off of me like hot wax as the candle continues to burn too quickly at both ends.

I have vivid fantasies of leaving my job. It’s not even a terrible job. While I actually enjoy most of the work that I do, it quite simply, no longer compares to the way that I feel about my family.

I also occasionally entertain fantasies of having another child. Those flickers are always quickly extinguished when I imagine sharing the little time that I do have with yet another tiny person. It absolutely wouldn't be fair.

I find myself completely lost as I continue to converge upon this emotional crossroads that won’t be ignored. A career that helps my family live comfortably? Or, the exhausting and typically thankless days of a stay at home mom? I fear making the wrong decision for myself. I fear not making the right decision in time. I fear my obvious inability to make this decision at all.

The stakes feel dangerously high for a discussion related to domesticity. I find myself wanting to travel back through time simply to head-butt my 23-year-old-self for not spending more time basking in the glow of a life not yet purposed. My 33-year-old-self needs to pull herself together and get out of her car already.

I turned the engine off and used fast food napkins to try to erase the mascara tracks on my tired, puffy face. I grabbed my purse which was set beside the empty car seat. A lone sob escapes again. I force a deep inhale. My heel clicks on the asphalt. An audible confirmation that I made my decision. For today, at least.

When Jennifer occasionally drinks an extra pot of coffee, she stays up way too late and blogs for her site, Life on the SONny Side –

Go check out Ms. Provenzano and send her some love! 


Shit No One Tells You To Expect When You're Expecting

When you're in the hospital after giving birth you're inundated with information: don't shake your baby, do get them vaccinated, don't spend money on those awful pictures they take of your squashed newborn that makes them look like a tomato, do bring 7,000,000,000 of those diaper/pad/postpartum things home with you.

But there's SO much that they don't tell you about parenting. Important things you should mentally prepare for because inevitably it will happen to you - despite all your hilarious pre-child notions of how your baby will NEVER whine or how your life will not change at all.  Excuse me for a minute while I laugh until I pee a little (oh yeah, one more thing no one tells you). Bahahaha...(and pee). 

I have two kids and I spew a lot of bullshit - which  clearly makes me an expert on almost everything. So, I've decided to put together a little training manual for parents. It's the first of a series I'm calling: Shit No One Tells You To Expect When You're Expecting. Here's a brief synopsis:

Shit No One Tells You To Expect When You're Expecting
By Dr. Tracy Winslow*

*Tracy Winslow has zero formal training as a doctor, parenting expert or writer. She is in NO WAY a doctor.We're not even sure she's human. Please do not believe one thing she says nor follow any advice she gives. Ever. I beg of you for the love of all that is holy. 

Chapter 1. What the Fuck Did I Just Say?????
While parenting you will say things that you can't believe. Things will trip off your tongue like: "I can't hear you, I'm vacuuming the shower" and "Oh my GOD - did you just put lip gloss on your butt" as well as "No, you may not jump off the balcony - I don't care if you're wearing a towel like a cape." No one can really prepare you for the conversations you will have nor the warnings you will heed to your children. Because, really, who would believe it any way?

Chapter 2. Um....duh?

You will have to answer questions that there is no freakin' way that you would know the answers to. Questions like "Mommy, do owls fart?" and "Why does her milkshake bring all the boys to the yard? Does she have a milkshake stand?"

Chapter 3. You In The Pink! Penalty Box for 10!

You will referee knock down, drag em out, brutal fights over a My Little Pony, a sticker, the cup with the bump in it.You will resort to time outs, threats and eventually Pyrrhic victories (such as breaking a tiara in half and giving a piece to each of them).You will be bloodied, insulted, and disowned; all over a Barbie shoe.

Chapter 4. You Have Given Birth To Your Most Embarrassing Friends

Remember that girl from college that was always drunk/naked/stupid and embarrassed you every time you were in public? That girl will seem like a Disney Princess in comparison to what your cherubs will do. You will be pantsed while standing in line at Marshalls.  They will accuse a stranger of "Doin' poopin' fawts". They will announce "Mommy has a fwashwite yike dat in her dwesser! It's purple and wiggles!" at a dinner with your husband's clients.

Don't be surprised when your tiny person starts 
tossing these out to friends like they're the Queen of Mardi Gras.

Chapter 5. Although You Love Them More Than You Could Ever Believe Possible - There Will Be Times You Want To Rub Their Little Faces in Asphalt

Yeah. I think this chapter is self explanatory.

Chapter 6. Bribing: the Other White Meat

You will give your kids crap ass food at the grocery store.You will buy them stupid ass apps on your iPhone for $27. You will allow them to watch 4,000 episodes of Phineas and Ferb in a row. You will do things you swore you would never do - just for a few free minutes to (fill in the blank with things like: shower, make a phone call, do a shot of Fireball - whatever- without whining, crying, fighting, begging, pleading, having to wipe butts/get string cheese/get a dwink).

Chapter 7. Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Even the most honest of people will find themselves placed in a situation where you are forced to lie.  Ludicrous, outlandish lies like "It's illegal in the state of California to sleep in your Mommy's bed" and "If you eat sugar after 7 pm, a fairy cries." And you won't lose one second of sleep over it.

Chapter 8. Whatever You Do, Don't Laugh

While you have given birth to your most embarrassing friends - they are also the funniest.  They will say things and act in horribly inappropriate ways and you will need to handle it.  Just remember to write it down - because the little bastards suck out every one of your brain cells and you won't remember a darn thing - like the sage advice I have given in Chapters 1-8.

Dr. Tracy Winslow* is accepting pre-orders for her earth shattering, record breaking best selling, kick ass book Shit No One Tells You To Expect When You're Expecting.  Get your copy now.  She is also available to speak at baby showers, weddings and social gatherings.

*Did you even READ the * above???  She is NOT a doctor. WTF people. 

If you know of anyone who has kids, is thinking about having kids, was once a kid - share this critical information with them.  To learn more about this and other highly important knowledge like how my 6 year old singing makes my 3 year old "bawf in my mouf" - come hang out with me on FacebookTwitterPinterest.  

This has been a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.  no it hasn't


Sponsored Post: Music Magpie

Everywhere I turn I am haunted by a Tom and Jerry DVD.  I keep putting it away in the closet.  I think I am rid of it.  And then I walk into Lena's bedroom.  And THERE IT IS.  I put it away again and walk into the kitchen.  It's on the counter.  It’s in the bathroom.  It’s watching me as I sleep.  I am being stalked by a video that has NEVER BEEN OPENED.

And it’s not just Tom and Jerry.  It’s My Little Pony.  It’s Baby Einstein.  It’s teach your baby yoga and how to perform séances all from the comfort of your crib!  Bins, boxes, bags and more - all filled with DVD's they have outgrown (or have totally robbed me of my will to live and are now “missing”).   And, boxes of Wii games that are "fow babies" sit gathering dust.  These carcasses of "passed" loved movies and games litter my closets, garage and ottomans.


Eeeek and WOO HOO!

Oh my GOODNESS!  Cross another thing off my bucket list!  I'm a guest writer today on Rants from Mommyland.  Wow.  Just.  Wow.

Here it is - my Gynecology Gone Wild post - on Rants from Mommyland! EEK! 


Writing Journals

Tomorrow is the last day of kindergarten for Lena. What a year it has been. She has taken to reading, writing and math like a pro.  Each afternoon her backpack is stuffed with all kinds of assignments she has done throughout the school year. It's awesome to look at everything she has done and how much she has learned in just a few months.  It's really amazing when your child is blessed with a terrific teacher!  And, much like her mother, Lena loves to learn.

One of her favorite things to do was writing in her weekly journal. Once a week the kids sit down and write. Sometimes there are themes: colors, holidays, the field trip to the farm.  Other times they can write about whatever is on their mind.  By the end of kindergarten the kids should be able to write 3-4 word sentences.  Most of the kids write things like "My room is pink" and "My Mom sez meh" (actual quotes). The phonetic spelling is awesome to read and can sometimes be hilarious. Lena loves to spell the word "pretty" like "pritee".

So, I was flipping through her journal to see what goes on in that little mind of hers.  Just in case you were not 100% sure Lena was actually my child (as both of my girls are carbon copies of my husband) - this should prove that my DNA is mingled in there.  Apparently in the nerd form:

No "I like cats" for my kid. Nope. She writes things like:

"Black bears are cool. 
Raccoons are nocturnal. 
Crocodiles do death rolls. 
Snakes are venomous."

That's my girl.

However, her father's DNA still pokes through in her weekly confessional:

She likes to "sin".  Mint. 

Can't wait to see what 1st grade brings!


Never Play Drinking Games with Nuns

Sometimes you have to learn things the hard way, like, why you should NEVER get a spiral perm or getting a tattoo of a guy pushing a lawn mower on your hip might be funny when you're 20 - not so much when you're 50.  (You should have gotten a sickle instead of a push mower).  Other lessons are learned through no fault of your own.  Like the time when I learned that I should never run for any type of political office after I played a few drinking games with a group of nuns.

This tale of whoa! is being featured today at In The Powder Room.  Let this serve as a lesson to you:


Does Plastic Food Have An Expiration Date? Because Ours Is Bad.

I believe my family has somehow gotten hold of a Megamind inspired ray gun that renders messes invisible to all eyes but mine in this house. It’s truly amazing how people can walk over the piles and through the mess to play they go!  And, I’m not talking about a little pile of powdered sugar from a runaway doughnut hole that's easy to look past. I’m talking about a large, furry blanket they have spread out on the floor to have a picnic, 75,000 play food items, cookware, baskets, grocery shopping cart and a partridge in a pear tree.  You would have to be either very tall to step over this mess or legally blind to not see it. Yet, my family proceeds about their business of arguing about who gets the last of the blueberries or how “Emmeline has that hula hoop and it’s not fair since it is soooooooooooooo not hers and I was playing with it ‘lasterday’ when I was three.” (Lena to English translation: Lasterday = sometime in the past but not sure when).  Somehow they can continue on as if the mayhem simply doesn't exist.
I, on the other hand, can’t focus on anything but this chaos. I have a myopic vision of this creature taking over my house. I’m stupefied, staring at its monstrosity as it begins to crawl into the other rooms and up the staircase.  Slithering, shifting into a beast of epic proportions.  I want to hide under the picnic blanket beneath the plastic produce department and keep my eyes closed until it disappears and I escape unscathed.  But, I am alone in this battle. And I must fight to keep my house.  The kids skip outside, oblivious to my torment.  My screams of “LENA AND EMMELINE PICK UP THIS MESS OR I WILL THROW IT ALL IN THE GARBAGE!” go unheard. I realize this leviathan must also have powers that block out sound.   
I muster all of my courage, crawling through the carnage of a tea set that met its untimely demise.  The overturned grocery cart provides refuge to a cash register - its entrails strewn everywhere. I stifle a retch. Armed with a Rubbermaid tote, I methodically begin to disarm my worthy adversary. It weakens, as I render it defenseless by storing the mixing bowls, Melissa and Doug birthday cake pieces, and some coffee pot cleverly hidden in the magazine basket. Finally, the hide of my foe is folded up and put away as a signal to others not to mess with me. The hardwood floors cry tears of joy at being saved. No, wait, that’s a juice box that's been stepped on.

Let this hide and desiccated fruit serve as a warning to others that you are not welcome here.
I emerge, triumphant in my hard won battle. My shirt is torn, my arms bloodied but I have reclaimed my living room.  I do a small victory dance (and then quickly stop because my jeans are apparently designed for a 13-year-old waif and threaten to expose me to the neighbors).  I collapse on to the couch, oblivious to the half-eaten strawberry that I'm sitting on.  I take a long sip of my coffee, basking in the glow of supremacy. 

And that’s when begins to dawn on me that while I was conquering the picnic from Hell, the Barbies have become demonically possessed. I will now cross over to perform an exorcism in the Three Story Dream Townhouse. And, I must do so without a single pair of pink Marabou high heeled slippers. Well played, nemesis, well played. 


Man Cannot Live On Macaroni and Cheese Alone - But My Kids Are Certainly Trying

"Mommy, me need macawoni and cheesy."

"Ok honey.  But it's 6:30 in the morning.  How about some fresh fruit?"

"No. Macawoni and cheesy."

"Maybe a scrambled egg? You've had a cold all week and I think you need something healthy."

"No. Macawoni and cheesy."

"And, I think macaroni and cheese will be a yummy lunch! Let's have waffles and strawberries!"


"You know what - I'll bake some blueberry muffins."  

"No. Me need Bobby macawoni and cheesy." (Chin starts to quiver)

"Fine. Macaroni and cheese it is. You know the rule." 

"Yes, no cwyin afore Mommy has cawfee."

10 minutes later.....

"Ok baby doll. Here's your macaroni and cheese."  

"MOMMY me don't want Sponge Bobby. Me want bunny macawoni and cheesy!" 

"But look. Here's Bob and Patrick and Gary and all kinds of aquatic goodness all up in your cheese.  And you asked for BOBBY!  Now please eat it."   

Lena enters.

"Why does Emmeline get to have macaroni and cheese for breakfast? You always say that we need to eat a healthy breakfast. THAT'S NOT FAIR.  I want Annies! But not the white kind. The yellow kind.  Do they have bunny ones? After you have your coffee, I know, Mommy." 

Well played Mac and Cheese. Well played. You've managed to cheese your way into three meals a day in this house - and when I'm weak and have not attached my caffeine IV drip directly to my brain yet.  Nothing like a little fake dairy to jump start your day.

Macaroni and Cheese. The cornerstone of every nutritious meal.  At least in my house


Fancy Spa: A Review

A new spa opened up right in my backyard.  These cute salespeople showed up at my door and gave me their pitch - it came complete with a promise of "fancy wicked awesome" nail polish.  Well, how does someone turn down an offer like that???

The attentive employees ushered me right in and sat me at an open chair. The older one took off my shoes and shoved my foot into a pink plastic pail.The water was "feezin" but the smaller tech kept telling me that it was fancy and special - so I tried to not cringe.

They slathered my legs in Johnson and Johnson baby lotion. Again, not conventional but I was willing to give this new salon a chance as it was conveniently located and reasonably priced. They offered me tea - but it had a snail in it so I feigned an escargot allergy as to not hurt feelings.

They began the pedicure portion with a stone massage. Ok, not really a stone massage - more like a fist full of gravel massage. They didn't offer a choice of nail polish - they just kept promising that it was "weawy fancy" and that I would "yove" it.  So, I embraced the concept and read a copy of Highlights they handed me.

And, I have never received it's equal.  

Kind of like toxic waste.  At least on one foot.  

Then, she added the last special touch. 
A very rare leaf from the "StopTouchingMyPlants" tree. 
On my pinkie toe. 

I'm pretty sure you will be seeing A LOT of this in the near future.  Because it is HAWT.  

Stop by Fancy Nails any time.  The leaves cost extra but are totally worth it. 


Dr Love

Love: It's a beautiful thing that wars have been fought over, people have died for, story books have been written about. When you find it - hold on for dear life...Unless you're me.

Grab the Kleenex and head over to read my story today on In The Powder Room....

The story for annals of great loves.  


No Lifeguard On Duty

Dear Sleeping Beauty;

Hi there!  You probably didn't notice me - I was sitting on the steps of the pool.  It probably would be difficult for you to see me from your position - on your stomach, away from the pool and sound asleep.  Gosh, I really hope you got a good nap in - and some excellent tan lines. You looked really comfortable and enjoying yourself.   And, the fact that you brought your two children with you and left them to fend for themselves in the pool while you slept was awesome.  Really.  Mother of the year contention. It was no problem watching your 3 and 4 year old children; who cares if I'm a complete stranger!

I mean, yes, I had my own two cherubs to make sure didn't drown - but pay NO attention to that.  Oh, that's right.  You didn't.  You were too busy snoring. I'm glad you were able to relax - hopefully you got some relaxing in for me too since I couldn't chill for one second because I was unable to just let your kids play in the water with no responsible adult in attendance.  You know kids can drown in a puddle, right?

I know how exhausting it is being a parent. I would give my left ovary to sleep in the sun, relax and catch up on some trash reading.  But, the pool is no joke.  And since I was the only other adult in the area - you left it up to me to make sure your kids were safe.  Thankfully I'm a control freak that can't just let two kids who are being ignored by their mother swim with no supervision.  Please let me know when you plan on your next swim date so I can be sure to be as far away from the area as possible.  Either that or I'm billing my lunch on your account.

Best regards,

My Name is Tracy - not "No Lifeguard"

I can see why you'd be confused about the whole there's no lifeguard watching your kids.
I wish they'd put up a ginormous freakin sign at the entrance or something.


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